


Vanguard in Need

by Omeganixtra



Series: a map 'cross the stars [15]
Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Cayde's brain-to-mouth filter was never engaged, Gen, What-if Scenario, au because what else could this be?, cursing, that one time a titan yeeted an airlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-10-24 08:15:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20702786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omeganixtra/pseuds/Omeganixtra
Summary: “Any second now, my partner is gonna roll in here and kill… Every. Last. One of you.”A story in which the Guardian does just that





	Vanguard in Need

**Author's Note:**

> edit 20/9-19: realized that Tora's my Warlock, not my Titan. This is fixed now

Cayde’s a reckless fool, it’s part of his roguish charm and all that, but even he gets a little bit in over his head from time to time. Of course, he’d never admit it, but such chance encounters does happen every now and then.

Him flying down several hundred floors in the Prison of Elders might just very well be one of those. Just _maybe_.

Possibly.

Staring up the barrel of his own gun, on the other hand? Now, in a perfect world _that_ might just be where he’d have to admit defeat, but if anything is certain in Cayde’s mind at this very moment it’s that this is, in fact, _not_ a perfect world.

“Any second now,” he coughs and spits a thick blob of oil on Uldren’s footwear, the fucking peacock. “My partner is gonna roll in here and kill… Every. Last. One of you!”

Uldren chuckles, the fucker actually has the balls to _chuckle_, and then he shushes him. Him! The fucking Hunter Vanguard of the Last City is… is _shushed_ by this shit-stain of an Awoken princeling who’s probably spent more time sniveling at the feet of his sister than actually taken a moment to hear what the people have to say.

The asshole looks down at him with what only an idiot would call ‘kind eyes’, and cocks his gun. His gun—_Cayde’s gun_.

Cayde’s eyes are on the handle of his Ace in nanoseconds and his browplates meet in a frown.

“This is going to hurt… _a lot_,” Uldren murmurs and aims. “Any last words?”

Now, realistically, this would be where Cayde really just ought to say a final prayer, close his eyes and hope that either Petra or his partnered Guardian will be blasting in the airlock that Uldren stepped out of moments ago, just like he said they would.

Reality…

Well, the reality is probably going to be quite different, and Cayde might be a fool, but he’s a fool who knows when he’s lost the bet.

He scrambles for a moment to find purchase on the flooring beneath him, nicks himself on the blade lying discarded by his side.

“How,” he starts, glaring up at that fucking asshole’s smirking, disgusting face with a _vengeange_, but is interrupted by a cough as his lungs are desperately trying to keep him alive. “How’s your si—”

Cayde never gets to finish that sentence.

An echoing _boom_ rattles the entire room that both he and Uldren are caught in. From behind him, Cayde hears the Barons screech as a siren starts wailing somewhere far above them, and the door that Uldren walked out of moments ago shudders ominously.

The Prince whirls around to look at the door and Cayde scrambles once more as another shudder rattles everything and the siren renews its so far rather impressive impression of a good’ol Golden Age bomb alert. The Fallen roar but through the racket there’s no way in Hell that Cayde is catching _any _of that.

It’s at this point that the center of the door starts to glow a bright orange and Cayde’s next actions are purely instinctual.

With a heave he pushes himself to the side and curses up a storm when the doorway is finally blasted open and warm air is billowing into the room. Shrapnel flies _everywhere_—and he really means everywhere, some of the damn stuff tears new holes in his cape, and if the Guardian doesn’t think that he’ll rip into them about _that_ then they had better reprioritize!—and somewhere off to the side he hears Uldren let out a shriek followed by a _thunk_ as he’s probably thrown back by the door’s wreckage.

Good, Cayde thinks viciously, he hopes it _hurt_.

He chances a look up and rolls around onto his stomach, wincing when it pulls on just about every single part of him that’s injured, and if it weren’t because every single part of him made to keep him alive isn’t working overtime he’d whoop in joy at the sight that’s standing right there before him.

“Jesus fuckin’ _Christ_,” he’s speechless, absolutely _speechless_ as Petra and the Guardian steps out through the still-smoking remains of the airlock, one Queen’s Wrath holding a still-smoking rocket-launcher and the Guardian seething with the energies of stark blur Arc coiled around them. In one slick motion the Guardian has the Arc shape itself around their hands and takes a single step forward.

Cayde almost cackles when he hears a soft noise behind him recede. But only almost.

“That’s close enough, Sov,” the Guardian spits and their fists tighten as they look straight at the Prince. “I’d appreciate it if you stepped away from the Vanguard.”

“Ah, _you_,” Uldren sighs and the asshole has the fucking _nerve_ to level _Cayde’s gun_—_that’s his fucking gun and Uldren had never give it back!_—straight back at them. “I rather hoped we’d have a chance to meet before I go.”

“Oh, you’re going alright,” the Guardian retorts, and Cayde couldn’t be prouder in that moment over the _scathing_ sarcasm that drips off of their voice. “Straight back to a cell, that is.”

From where he’s positioned Cayde can’t see Uldren face proper, but he’ll bet anything that the fucker probably looks like he’s just sucked on a lemon, or something.

“I’m afraid that time is running short, and I have places to be.”

“Oh no you don’t!” Petra snarls and, in less time than Cayde will ever admit to not noticing, she’s thrown the rocket launcher to the side in favor of her trusty sidearm and fires.

Almost, as if everything in front of him is happening in slow-motion, Cayde follows the shot as it whirls past him and burrows straight through Uldren’s collarbone.

Several things happen all at once.

First off, utter fucking _chaos_ erupts.

Second, the Guardian lets out a bellowing roar—which, for posterity, Cayde is willing to be _anything_ on that he’s learnt from Shaxx—before he shoots off in a searing burst of Arc, heading straight for Uldren with what Cayde can only hope is extreme prejudice.

Third, it seems that the Barons have finally figured out that as mighty as they might be, a Guardian on a mission, glazed all up in Arc to boot, might be more of a hassle in tight spaces than they would like to currently deal with, and one of them ushers forward to drag Uldren back with them, even if he is howling and screaming curses at both them and the new arrivals.

Petra’s gun goes off once more, this time probably getting to one of the Barons if Cayde’s _Eliksni_ ain’t gotten too rusty and the shout he hears

“Cayde, _move_!” the Guardian roars as he whirls past the prone Vanguard, and Cayde winces when it sounds as if the Titan collides with something fleshy and probably a lot bigger than they are, at least if the furious yell sounding straight after is anything to judge by.

But Cayde moves, understanding that out here in the open he’s sure as shit not worth anything, and definitely not when he’s still reeling from being blasted through who even knows how many walls, and he scrambles up behind the closest thing that can serve as a barricade from the hell of bullets that this is going to turn into.

The Guardian is suddenly sent flying backwards, inches away from colliding with Cayde, but then he’s up on his feet again and drawing out what appears to be a _wicked_, kit-bashed-to-Hell-and-back kinda gun that Cayde could have a mighty fine time with. Then the mad bastard’s off again

“Hey, hey—over here, _over here, _gun please!” Cayde shrieks as he gestures from behind the barricade he’s holed up against. Traveler above, he’s not even sure that the kid can hear him over the sound of the Ace of Spades’ bullets raining down around the two of them.

With a curse Cayde snarls when a bullet rips clean through the shoddy metalwork of the barricade and pierces his arm.

“Kinda busy here!” the Guardian hollers back and fires blindly back at Uldren and one of the damn Fallen with a pulse—wait, _is that one of Shaxx new toys_?!

He can’t believe it, that dodgy asshole has been keeping his new shipment from him!

The rest of the impromptu gunfight passes as if he’s in a hazy dream. He keeps waiting for reality to set in, keeps waiting for a bullet to hit just a little bit of an angle and going through his chest, his head—just some vital, important part of the machinery that keeps him tickin’. Because somewhere inside of him there’s a part of him that’s missing. The part that saw Sundance go out in a burst of Light and take out the remaining Fallen scrawls that he hadn’t managed to kill off in his rather spectacular show of skill earlier.

Traveler be good, Sundance.

_Sundance_

She’s gone, the part of his head that’s always solely belonged to her is just… just _gone_, and the void that’s been left behind is crying out for something to fill it again.

“Vanguard, you alright?”

He’s brought out of his musings by the absence of gunshots and by the Guardian standing in front of him.

The Guardian has their helmet off now, and it’s through a somewhat-blurry gaze that Cayde sees a worried Titan hunch down before him. His body might not be human anymore, but his brain sure as shit remembers how adrenaline feels.

“You sure took your sweet time,” he rasps, winces again when just that simple sentence takes every bit of air out that he’s managed to gather. “Thought I’d really be a goner there for a second.”

And just like that Cayde’s amazing humor strikes again as the Guardian’s face goes from worried to put out. “Yeah, well, next time don’t make a fucking racket as you fly down through a burning prison, yeah?”

“Shornell, stay here,” Petra bites out as she stands in front of the now-closed airlock leading out of the prison. “I’m checking the perimeter.”

“Don’t go far,” Zalli hollers back at her before his attention is on Cayde once more. “Y’know that Meera is going to kill both of us, right?”

Cayde groans. “Ah fuck, didn’t really think about that.”

“And the rest of the Vanguard will be right behind her. Traveler above, Cayde, your Ghost was—” Whatever tirade that Zalli is about to spill out on him is stopped immediately as he looks straight down on the floor instead. “I’m so sorry.”

To be honest it hasn’t really set in yet, the fact that Sundance is gone—really, really gone, as in ‘gone for good’, as in there won’t be no quirky little buddy to rezz him if shit goes south ever again.

Next time’ll be a total RTL.

Fuck.

_Fuck_.

“I—I don’t—”

“You’re alive,” Zalli cuts in and his hand lands on Cayde’s shoulder, heavy and more grounding than anything else in reach. “You’re alive, and that’s the most important thing.”

“He got my gun,” Cayde mumbles back, and if he sounds like a petulant child he is _so_ above caring right now that it ain’t fucking funny anymore. “They got my Ghost’n my gun…”

“We’ll get your gun back, Vanguard,” Zalli's grizzled face grins and it’s a vicious, terrifying thing. “Sov haven’t seen the last of us yet.”

“You sure are free with your affections today, Shornell,” the wheezing chuckle that Cayde lets out turns into a fullblown coughing fit that has him bent over forwards in seconds.

“Well y’know,” Zalli smirks back at him. “Anything for a Vanguard in need.”

**Author's Note:**

> you better believe that ya boy Zalli got pinnacle weapons through sheer, utter _grind___


End file.
